The rites of spring: Baseball

Apr 1, 2011

 

I’ve been that way for as long as I can remember. As a kid, it used to drive my mom crazy that I could remember jersey numbers of almost any player on my favorite teams, but I couldn’t remember how to do my algebra.

It was very seldom that you wouldn’t find my brother and I playing ball in the backyard in early spring, waiting for the final piles of snow to go away. I’m glad we didn’t move to Northern Michigan until I was beyond the backyard-ball stage of my life, or many years we would have been waiting a long time to get those games in.

Having been born and raised in Michigan, I became a very loyal Detroit Tigers fan. There have been many years that wasn’t real easy to do — but, regardless of their record, it was always a special treat for Mom and Dad to pack up the family and head to Tiger Stadium and see some of my heroes perform in person.

I’m still that way today.

Last April, when living in southwest Oklahoma, I loaded up my family, and we traveled to Arlington, Texas, to watch the visiting Tigers take on the Rangers. I was giddy the entire three-hour drive to the ballpark and couldn’t wait for the game to start.

Unfortunately, my son doesn’t share the same enthusiasm as I have for the game, but he found plenty of interest in the concession and souvenir stands. The inflatable bat I purchased for him in hopes of getting him interested in the game only became another tool in which to hit his sister with. And of course, a 7 year old can’t make a trip to the concession stand without having to later make trips to the restroom.

In spite of missing probably a third of the game, and my Tigers losing that evening, spending an enjoyable April evening at the ballpark for the first time ever with my family was an experience I will never forget.

Now that we are living back in Michigan, I’m hopeful I can make numerous trips to Detroit throughout the summer and cheer on my beloved Tigers. I suspect that some of those trips will include the rest of the family — and I can hope that my son, and possibly even my daughter, will acquire along the way a greater love for the game than they do the concession stand.

Go Tigers!

 

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